My Brother, the Rider
by Elvish-Princess99
Summary: Murtagh has just been captured by the Twins. This story follows his experiences at the hands of Galbatorix. When he encounters a mysterious red stone, how will he act? And when he discovers that Eragon has been captured, will he do what is right?
1. Murtagh's Trial

_Please__ drop me a line about the story, good or bad, I need to know. Ah, and there's no possible way for me to reproduce the accents used in the book. I've tried, but on my PC it isn't happening. This was born out of the ashes of Arya's Secret, Eragon's Love. It takes place directly after Murtagh's capture at the end of Eragon. _

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Murtagh was dragged through the corridors of Galbatorix's palace from his cell by two guards. Apparently, Galbatorix wished to speak with him. Eventually they were facing two enormous doors that suited the palace of Galbatorix perfectly. If it were possible for doors to be evil, then these particular doors would be the top of the list; 'One Hundred Most Evil Doors in Alagaesia.'

One guard removed his arm from Murtagh, and he slumped to one side. The guard didn't seem to notice, but his partner did. _He_ had to take Murtagh's full weight.

The doors began to creak open slowly. Obviously they weren't used very often. The guard once more took hold of Murtagh -weak because of the rigours of his journey. No one had told the Twins not to _harm_ the prisoner- and the two hauled him into the throne room of the king.

All three shuddered involuntarily. The room was cavernous. It was a _long _room though it wasn't very wide. There wasn't much light despite it being mid-morning- this was due to the near complete lack of windows.

A black carpet stretched up the centre of the room, between the pillars that supported the roof. The three men couldn't see what was at the end of the room, and they all shared the desire to _not _do so. However, none of them had a choice.

The guards started independently of each other, so Murtagh experienced the unpleasant sensation of having one arm tugged _hard _on one side, and resistance from the other. In a few seconds they managed to get in synch, and they proceeded up the carpet at an extremely slow pace.

The king was seated on a throne carved out of black stone and was slumped in it. He stirred as the guards approached with their prisoner, and they gave an involuntary start as they beheld him.

His skin was stretched far too tight over his skull; his eyes were deep in their sockets. His skin had an unnatural pallor that one usually associated with illness. And yet, Galbatorix gave off the sense of extraordinary power. He was the Conqueror.

He sat up properly and focussed on the prisoner in front of him, and then opened his mouth to speak. Murtagh fully expected a raspy, whisper of a voice but his appearance deceived him once again. "Murtagh, you've…_disappointed_ me." His voice was strong and rich, and throbbed with a powerful passion. Murtagh remembered why he'd been fooled before.

"Now is the time to repent of your crimes, son of my most loyal servant, and take your rightful place." He gestured vaguely to the right, and his dark eyes rested on Murtagh, clearly expecting a response.

Murtagh lifted his chin, and summoned all his courage. Then, he looked Galbatorix straight in the eye and shook his head, unable to force himself to utter a syllable. Galbatorix's smile that had rested on his face twisted and he murmured, "So be it." Then he flicked his hand, and Murtagh fell to the cold stone floor as indescribable pain swept through him.

There were many phrases, he considered, that existed to describe extreme pain; 'one thousand knives going through me', 'as if hot lead ran through my veins' but none came close to the agony he was in. Even as he thought the word 'agony' a smile graced his lips. Agony was a spectacular understatement.

Suddenly it stopped, leaving Murtagh feeling a very centimetre from death. The pain had been all-consuming. "Take him to the cells."

The guards once outside the room supported him to a greater extent than they had in front of their king, somehow sympathising with him after witnessing the torture. The journey to the cells was quite a long one, and at one point Murtagh's legs failed completely. The guards then carried him for the rest of the journey.

When one of the guards opened the door to the dungeons, it was clear that the prisoners weren't meant to be able to derive enjoyment from the sunlight. The place was, like the throne room, devoid of light.

There was a window in the two largest cells -probably meant for the more privileged prisoners- and it was in one of these that the guards put him in. They laid him on the bed and retreated out of the cell, locking the door behind them. One guard walked away, but the other guard remained, presumably to guard him. He simply lay on the bed for some time, unable to do anything else. But eventually he recovered a degree of strength and was able to devote that to thought.

He wasn't entirely sure how many days had passed since the disastrous episode with the Urgals, Ajihad and the Twins, but he knew that the journey to Uru'baen had taken at least a few weeks.

His thoughts drifted to Eragon and Saphira and he wondered if his friend had forgotten him. The idea upset him so he pushed it far from his mind and allowed himself to slip into sleep.

Three days passed and on each one Galbatorix exacted his terrible, mysterious torture on Murtagh. And each day he repeated his demand that Murtagh join him. Quickly Murtagh grew much, much thinner. His cheekbones became sharp in his thin face, his ribs prominent.

On the fourth day, he seemed to double the strength of the spell, and Murtagh not only collapsed to the floor, he also lost consciousness. He came back after a few minutes, no doubt owing to Galbatorix.

He looked up at the king with his hate for him radiating out of his face. But there was a deep fear there too. He couldn't possibly go on like this. There was no _way _he could survive if this was to continue, and Murtagh knew that Galbatorix would never stop.

"Where are the Varden, Murtagh?" Galbatorix asked in soft tones, sending a chill through everyone unfortunate enough to be in the room. Murtagh's gaze had fallen to the floor, and he didn't raise it now. He murmured a silent apology to his friend, knowing that if Eragon were ever to meet Galbatorix, he would understand. He _couldn't _let go of life, not now.

"Farthen Dur, in the Beor Mountains. The Dwarves house them." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't capable of producing more.

"Eragon, where is he?" "With the Varden." Murtagh gasped, a dry sob racking his body. "His loyalties lie with them?" "It seems so…"

"He'll learn." Galbatorix muttered to himself, looking directly in front of him. "Now you," he began, directing his gaze at Murtagh who made no effort to hide his repulsion and disgust of Galbatorix. "will now swear to me in the ancient language. It wouldn't do for you to be able to betray me now would it?"

Galbatorix seemed unperturbed at the complete lack of response from Murtagh. With a flick of his hand (and a twisted smile) he dismissed the soldiers. "You'll repeat after me…"

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_I'm personally a little disatisfied with this chapter. Not sure why. Anyway, things get better from here. This story is actually the manifestation of my frustration at Murtagh's enslavement, and also an exploration of what exactly happened. We only ever saw things from Eragon's side, and he wasn't with Murtagh during that time. So I'm attempting to fill that blank._


	2. My Brother, the Rider

_A.N: I've been very naughty. I forgot to tack on a disclaimer- maybe assuming it was obvious. Well, thanks to everyone that reviewed the story and read it, actually. As I've mentioned to someone, this story is AU. Although I think I might take advantage of one or two elements from Brisingr, because otherwise my job gets a lot more difficult. So, for -hopefully- your reading pleasure: chapter two!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except the guards. They're all mine.

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Murtagh sat on his bed, head in hands. Galbatorix had made him swear that he would _not _(among other things) attempt to kill or harm him in anyway be it through magic -something Murtagh saw as pointless seeing as he couldn't _use _the cursed stuff- or mortal weapons.

Then he'd had a guard take him to a chamber where he'd sleep, spend spare time, hide etc. - which had been prepared already. Obviously Galbatorix had been sure of his agreement. And as Murtagh acknowledged, why shouldn't he have?

What was bothering him most was the _corrupt _feeling that had afflicted him ever since he'd first uttered his first word about Eragon and the Varden. He knew his reasons, and he knew they were good ones too.

The only way you could argue with them in fact, was if you hadn't been through what he had. And that was the problem- most _hadn't. _So most would see him as a traitor, someone to be reviled. And he _wasn't, _Murtagh thought passionately.

As these thoughts and more ran through his head, a guard approached the door and rapped on it, startling him out of his thoughts. "Murtagh?" he called hesitantly. "Yes?" Murtagh asked, equally hesitant.

"Ga- Ga- the King would like to see you. You've to come with me." Murtagh got up slowly, and made his way across the room, hauling the door open when he reached it.

A guard, just about his age, stood outside in Galbatorix's palace livery -all black, nicely matching Galbatorix's soul- and with a chalk-white face. Hardly surprising- he'd just seen the Evil One himself.

"Follow me." he said, upon seeing Murtagh, kindly not commenting on Murtagh's deathly pallor, haggard face, ravaged frame and -to top it all off- ripped and grimy clothes.

The guard led him along for quite some time, going far into the castle. He finally stopped at a door to which Murtagh was sure must have been the last room in the castle, on the last floor of many.

"In there." the guard muttered, jerking his head at the oak door, clearly unhappy with his proximity to Galbatorix. Murtagh nodded briefly_. _The guard at least could run, and he did this now, duty fulfilled.

Murtagh pulled open the door, grunting with the effort when he met resistance. When he'd managed to get the door open -it put up a heroic fight- he poked his head inside the room.

What he saw made him gasp. It was like a cave more than anything else. In the centre there was a podium which Galbatorix stood by.

A strange white light seemed to radiate from it, and on it there was a largish, oval shaped red stone. Oddly, it had veins running through it of a pale, off white shade. At the sound of Murtagh's footsteps on the floor Galbatorix turned round. He was in a foul mood. With ill-disguised ire he gestured Murtagh over.

"This isn't the best time to go over family history, Murtagh. But I need to get this out of the way." Murtagh opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Galbatorix motioned at him to keep quiet.

"I've got something going on, and if it's successful, I won't need to see you for a while. D'you remember your father, Morzan?" Murtagh nodded, his face darkening. Why did he need to be reminded of _him? _

"You aren't his only child. Your mother Selena had another son." Murtagh's expression quickly became one of utter shock, the feeling almost overwhelming the disgust he felt at the man before him. "Your brother is Eragon."

Murtagh stood there in silent shock, and would happily have done so for a much longer period of time. But Galbatorix wasn't going to allow him that luxury. "Observe the stone." he snapped.

Murtagh almost refused, but eventually suppressing a shudder, pushed aside his thoughts and he approached and observed. "Now," Galbatorix began, his expression changing subtly and becoming tenser, "_hold _it."

Murtagh didn't obey immediately. He even considered throwing an incredulous look at Galbatorix, but knew that this was unwise. Stretching out a hand, he brushed the stone with his fingertips before taking it into his hand.

It slowly warmed in his palm, and the slightest of tremors seemed to run through it. Murtagh uncurled his fist and gazed uncertainly at the stone lying in his palm.

Galbatorix stared at the stone with now obvious hunger -that remained unnoticed by Murtagh- in his eyes, and appraised it then Murtagh, who was staring at the stone, transfixed.

Someone pounded on the door and Galbatorix spun round, with a terse shout. "Enter!" Whoever was outside threw themselves against the door with impressive force. A man fell into the room, panting heavily. Murtagh observed his uniform with interest. He didn't recognise it.

Galbatorix evidently did, as he gestured at the man to exit and followed him out. Murtagh watched as the door closed behind him and returned his gaze to the stone, wondering why on earth Galbatorix would keep it down here on a podium like this, and then ask him to _hold _it.

After a few minutes Galbatorix burst into the room, bypassing the door without any apparent trouble. Murtagh scowled at it and him. His scowl turned into a look of deep confusion as he saw that Galbatorix looked…_happy._

In addition to the ingrained fear any person would fear when around Galbatorix, Murtagh began to feel slightly worried. _What would have to happen to make Galbatorix __**happy?**_

"Murtagh, leave." Galbatorix ordered, a broad smile spreading over his face. Knowing full well that this boded well for no-one, Murtagh left quickly, eager to get away.

* * *

Murtagh paced his room. It had been several days since his last meeting with Galbatorix, and in that time he'd been clothed, fed, and hadn't seen Galbatorix once. And in all that time the wretched stone hadn't left his mind.

He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. It was late in the night, and he knew he should probably make an attempt to sleep.

However, this night would probably be no different from the others. Hours spent staring at the ceiling, trying to push the stone from his mind, and consider other matters. To no avail.

He suddenly came to a decision. Right now, he was going to go down to the room and see the stone. If nothing else, it would hopefully give him relief from the wretched thing when he finally accepted that as it _was_ doing nothing it really was _just a stone._

He pushed his door open gently, and gazed up and down the corridor. Seeing no guards, he stepped out softly and pushed the door closed. Then promptly jumped as he noticed the guard -fortunately asleep- just outside the door.

Shaking his head at the stupidity of his mistake, he made a decision on which way to go, based on his memories of the rather memorable day and set off.

Some time later -he couldn't remember exactly how much, but it was a largeamount anyway- he arrived at the door. For several seconds he simply stared at the door, until his thoughts were interrupted by a large _cracking _noise.

He pulled the door open gingerly -to his great surprise it opened easily this time- and stepped into the room. Just about everything was as he remembered it. All except the stone, which was rocking gently on the podium. A large _crack _resonated around the room again and the stone began to shake even more violently.

Murtagh began to eye it with some fear now, but no thought of retreat entered his mind. He regretted that he'd came, though. Just like he'd had an inexplicable desire to see it again, there was now an equally inexplicable feeling that his life was about to change. Majorly.

A large crack appeared down the stone's centre, marring its mysterious beauty. Other hairline cracks formed over the stone, all meeting at the central point.

Next, urgent squeaks began to emit from the stone, and Murtagh cursed in shock. Now he _really _wished he hadn't come. What menace of Galbatorix's was this?

What happened next happened with lightening speed. The stone seemed to lose its integrity, and with one final violent shudder split open, sending fragments of -it was patently obvious now- _egg _around the room.

Words, curses, any form of expression deserted Murtagh immediately. There was a _dragon _on the podium. Tentatively, with his hand shaking fiercely, he stretched it out to touch it as he had the egg.

The second his hand touched it, pain went through him. Pain reminiscent of the torture Galbatorix had inflicted on him.

Since Murtagh had already been in a fragile state prior to touching the dragon, it was of no surprise to him that consciousness left him immediately.

When he woke again, the dragon was nudging his side squeaking impatiently. Groaning, he sat up, and backed away from it fast.

It gave him a _look _and followed, rubbing its leathery head against his hand. He was extremely glad that the pain did not come this time.

He lifted up his hand to brush the hair from his eyes and uttered an exclamation as he caught sight of his left palm. There was a white mark on it, not unlike that on Eragon's. He narrowed his eyes at the dragon which squeaked loudly and proceeded to stare him out.

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_You knew that was coming as soon as the stone was mentioned, right? Now. I have a request- does anyone have ideas for the little guy's name? I don't think Thorn's appropriate, since -hints here- I don't intend for him to be 'a thorn in the side'. Full credit and a load of kudos to whoever beats me to it._


	3. Surprise, surprise

_A.N: I didn't expect to get the answers I did, when asking for a new name. They were excellent- incredibly well thought out, and they would all have fit extremely well. However, someone made a good point about the name 'Thorn'- they pointed out they associated Murtagh's dragon with that name, and when I thought about it, I did too. That's why I think I won't change it. But if anyone wants some great names for a dragonlet check the reviews! _

_P.S. Sorry for not replying sooner to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I went on holiday the next day, and I just got back._

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Murtagh looked away from its gaze which was frankly disconcerting. He'd never expected to find himself in this situation. He racked his brains desperately trying to remember anything Eragon had ever said about Saphira or did with her.

While at the same time attempting to dispel confused feelings that arose concerned with Eragon. He'd been blocking those thoughts completely for a while now, and didn't intend to stop now.

One thing that came to him immediately was the way they communicated- telepathically. He looked down at the little creature and wondered how that would come about. Suddenly he recoiled as something foreign touched his mental barriers.

The dragon's eyes caught his again and he faintly sensed frustration from whatever was attempting to contact him. It pushed harder at the walls surrounding Murtagh's mind and he realised that this must be the dragon. He had to fight the urge not to attack it.

It hissed at him, and slowly, he began to lower them. The dragon's mind seemed to…meld with his, and even though he was sure actual conversations were beyond the infant, he could sense what it was feeling.

What it was feeling right now was satisfaction. He picked it up and held it to his chest, wondering what on earth to do next. One thing was for sure; Galbatorix was never going to know of this. He had no idea what he'd do to it, and he didn't want to find out.

He stood up, murmuring 'shush' to it gently, using his mind to impress the importance of silence on it. He needed to get to his room and quickly.

Quickly hurrying down corridors, he groaned as he suddenly came upon a flight of stairs heading deeper into the bowels of the castle. This was not the way to his room, which he was sure was up a floor. Shrugging, he decided to try it anyway. It wasn't as if going back would help.

After Murtagh went through the door, he groaned again, this time adding a curse or two. There was another flight of stairs lying before him, and this lot looked like they had to be the longest flight ever made.

He took a rest halfway down muttering to himself and the dragon which twisted in his arms and gazed down the stairs. Murtagh looked at it, and wondered sourly if it could see through the pitch black, unlike him.

It caught his eye and squeaked impatiently. Murtagh guessed it had noticed a guard either coming down the stairs or up from the bottom of the next thousand stairs.

He pressed himself to the wall just in case, actually grateful -at this moment- for the darkness. No one could see him, just as he couldn't see them.

Seconds later a guard passed them on the stairs panting slightly and muttering things about Galbatorix that he'd never have said had he known that he had company.

Murtagh looked blindly in the general direction of him and once he couldn't hear him any more, went on his way. Pausing a moment, he glanced at the dragon, wondering if there were any more guards they had to worry about.

If it had been human, it would have raised an eyebrow. As it was, it just ignored him until he started again. Finally, he stepped down from the last stair, and almost fell over as he attempted to descend further steps that weren't there.

Stifling curses, he squinted through the dark, realising that the place was getting lighter by the second. Correctly assuming that this meant a guard armed with a torch was coming, he pressed himself to the wall again.

The light showed Murtagh that to his left was a door- he appeared to be in some kind of hall. Opposite him was another door, but unlike the one the guard was about to come through, this one was closed.

The guard entered the hall and turned straight to the closed door, not even noticing the man and the dragon behind him. He opened the door revealing several guards sitting at a table, talking, eating and drinking.

"Marcus!" one exclaimed. "How's the prisoner?" "Half-dead." Marcus replied. "If he doesn't talk soon, he won't be able to talk." The guard who'd spoken first made a face and pulled out a chair. "Come and refresh yourself." Marcus grinned, and with a nod closed the door behind him.

Murtagh stared at the door, now realising where he was. The dungeons- and he knew where his room was from there. He allowed himself a small smile. He wasn't far at all.

However, there was a prisoner currently being tortured like he was. He had to at least see if he could help. He crept stealthily through the door, thanking the gods that the guard had absent-mindedly forgot to close it.

In the room with the cells, torches were placed at regular intervals in brackets. Murtagh looked in the first two, wincing as he looked at the occupants. They'd been down here longer than him. He continued reluctantly, seeing that they were beyond help.

There were only two cells left, and Murtagh quickly peered into the right and finding nothing, glanced at the left, now deciding that it would probably be better to get back.

As he looked into the left, the colour drained from his face, and the dragon squeaked quietly, sensing that something was wrong here.

The prisoner was Eragon. He looked like Murtagh had before he'd given in- unhealthily gaunt face, fragile frame, bones too prominent. He was chained to the wall and at the moment seemed to be enjoying a light sleep. At least until the dragon let out a particular loud squeak.

Murtagh jumped, let out an impressive stream of oaths which he'd been saving for a special occasion and looked fearfully in the direction of the open door.

He shot the dragon a reproachful look, and it gave him a doe-eyed one. Shaking his head, he took several deep breaths and looked at Eragon who was stirring.

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_Writing the next chapter at this very moment. What did you think?_


	4. Inside Help

_A.N: Quite a short chapter. It gets a little sentimental at some points, but I couldn't help myself. :) Thanks again to evryone who has reveiwed, favourited or added this story to an alerts list. They're great to read and it's fantastic to hear that people are enjoying this. Nothing too much happens action-wise.

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As Murtagh looked upon his old friend -no, brother- he felt his mouth dry and pulse rate quicken. He couldn't really have explained his nerves, but they were jangling.

Involuntarily, he tightened his grip on the small creature in his arms. Solemnly, it regarded him with liquid ruby eyes. Something in its gaze made him smile suddenly, inexplicably feeling happier than he had in a long time.

Eragon was beginning to stir. His eyelids fluttered, his breathing deepened and suddenly one arm shot out and grabbed a bar. He pulled himself slowly into a sitting position. His glazed eyes focussed on Murtagh. "I thought you were dead." he said hoarsely, voice and expression carefully emotionless.

Murtagh found himself giving Eragon a slight, mirthless smile. "There were times when I wished I was." he muttered. Eragon nodded in agreement. "I know the feeling."

"How…how were you captured?" Murtagh asked. "We were at Farthen Dur and Saphira was far out hunting. Galbatorix's men were there. Somehow they knew where the entrance was…" he paused, seeing the guilt which had been tormenting Murtagh since the words had left his lips.

"I would have told them too." he said softly. "I nearly sold everything actually. Before you came here." As he spoke his expression softened and his tone grew warmer. "I'm glad we were wrong. We thought you were dead. Or worse- a trai…" His eyes suddenly found the dragonlet as his lips formed the word. The change in his demeanour was instantaneous. "So we were right." he said flatly.

"No!" Murtagh hissed vehemently, as loudly as he dared. "I might have sworn never to kill him, but I'd _welcome _death before I sold my soul to a devil like him!"

Eragon's eyes drifted to the dragonlet. "Have you come up with a name for them?" he asked curiously, surprising Murtagh with lack of hostility. "Him." Murtagh replied automatically. "How do you know he's male?" "I know." Murtagh said definitely.

Eragon laughed. "Saphira kept me guessing for ages! She teased me!" Murtagh's lips curled into a slow, genuine smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but the chance was snatched when he heard a noise outside the room.

Both his and Eragon's faces froze in shock. Murtagh immediately leapt back into the opposite unoccupied cell, shutting the door silently and concealing himself in the shadows at the back. Eragon dropped to the ground, appearing to all the world, comatose.

A torch-wielding guard walked in, giving a cursory look to each cell as he passed on his way through the room. At Eragon's he paused for several minutes, gazing thoughtfully -and, from what Murtagh could see of his face, sorrowfully- at the emaciated figure within.

Eventually he ambled back along the room and out, closing the door behind him. Murtagh offered up a prayer of thanks to any gods that did exist and happened to be listening. He hadn't locked it.

He slipped out of the cell again. "I can't get you out right now," he said quietly to Eragon. "I'll be back when I have a plan that'll work." "If you did right now, you'd only rob Galbatorix of the pleasure of slowly gutting us both." Eragon muttered bitterly.

"I'll work something out." Murtagh promised as he made his way out. _For both our sakes.

* * *

_

His calves burned as he climbed the set of stairs that would take him to his room. It had been the bloody flight that had taken him to the dungeons. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn they led through the whole castle.

He paused on a step, his chest heaving. He didn't have the stamina he had had before his capture. As he cursed internally, one hand removed from the dragon and bracing him against the wall, he heard faintly echoing footsteps.

Even curses went from his beleaguered mind. This was too much. The dragonlet, under considerably less pressure and showing a talent for self-preservation, squirmed in his arms and jabbed its head frantically to the right.

Murtagh didn't know what it could see there, but he didn't much care. He staggered in that direction, and nearly collapsed sideways as an alcove opened before him.

Light from an advancing torch gave the walls a golden hue. Probably a guard, Murtagh thought, relaxing a little. There were two steps of footsteps, however, and that was strange. Guards usually patrolled alone. He wondered as they neared, who the second person was.

His breath stilled in his chest as they reached his position. It was Galbatorix, striding ahead of the guard. He wondered morbidly if that breath would be his last.

As the guard passed, some odd quirk of fate made his head turn to the right as he passed the alcove. For one terrible moment Murtagh was convinced he _wouldn't _take another breath. However, as he looked upon the dragonlet, his head snapped round to the front and walked quickly forward without a word. Murtagh was sure that he had been the man who had first brought him to Galbatorix.

In his wake, he left Murtagh in turmoil. Confusion, relief, gratefulness and horror warred in his mind as he begun to stagger up the stairs once more. Murtagh had survived now, but Galbatorix was almost certainly heading to Eragon.

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_That guard, you may have guessed, is going to figure a little more prominently pretty soon. Tiny spoiler there. What did you guys think?_


	5. Fresh Hope

AN: It's been too long since I returned to writing this. However, recently work has been taking up more of my time than normal so writing was more difficult. But I've got started again and have a chapter! Thanks for all the reviews- they're lovely and I really enjoy hearing what anyone thinks. Big thanks also to those who have this on their alert list. On with the chapter!

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As Galbatorix strode ahead, his steps echoed loudly in the corridor. Marcus swallowed hard and continued behind him, half of his attention devoted to keeping the wretched torch steady and the other to staying conscious. His mind was a maelstrom, thoughts swirling furiously around his mind and leaving turmoil in their wake. Suddenly Galbatorix came to a halt.

Marcus, somehow convinced he _knew _what was in his mind, felt panic rise painfully in his chest. Galbatorix turned to face him and Marcus suddenly realised that they had in fact come to the end of the stairs. An end he'd been sure didn't exist.

Galbatorix gestured between the terrified man and the door. "Do you have the keys?" "N-n-n-no, my lord." Marcus gasped, lips having difficulty forming the words. He watched Galbatorix carefully, trying to judge whether his expression read _life _or _death_.

But the tyrant's brow was creased in neutral thoughtfulness. Mystified, Marcus made a superb attempt at looking blank and servile. His attempt was apparently successful because Galbatorix turned from him. "Return to your post." he said coldly. With not even a snap of his fingers, he faded from Marcus' stunned view.

He observed the area carefully. Then he waited a few minutes and when nothing happened for some time he pulled the keys from his pocket, unlocked the door and received a soggy tomato in the face. "You're on duty for another ten minutes, you lazy-"

* * *

Murtagh staggered into his room some time later. A quiet sob of relief and stress escaped him as he made it to the bed by sheer force of will.

The dragon pulled out of his grasp and curled up at the bottom of the bed. He followed its example and gratefully sank into dreams uninhabited by Galbatorix, the Varden and inconveniently observant guards. When he woke, he did so reluctantly. He didn't know what time it was and he didn't care. The dragon did though. He snapped at him, his meaning clear- it was food time.

Murtagh bit his lip, unsure of what to do. The dragon would probably prefer to eat something meaty and bloody but that was hardly human fare. It _could _probably eat strips of dried meat but he was in a _castle._ He wasn't entirely sure, but he was confident that he was the closest thing to a prince the place would ever see. So, no dried meat for Murtagh.

He walked over to the door anyway, despite the lack of ideas. Due to his absent-mindedness, he nearly stepped right onto the bloody haunch of...something that had been placed right before the door.

The shock nearly felled him and then paranoia attacked. This was clearly a really stupid plan to kill him. _Bloody _meat? Failing that it was possibly a reference to the dragon. A sort of 'I know your secret...' type thing.

He bent down to examine it and saw a note placed on the platter the haunch was resting on. It read:

_This is for your dragon to eat. Don't worry; the secret is still just that. A spell follows this that will enable you to check for poison and hopefully assuage your worries. The meat will glow certain colours for certain poisons. Blue, however, is neutral._

His brow creased as he read. A spell? What use was that to him? The dragon caught his eye. It was stretching and yawning, the whole of its small body vibrating.

Something in his mind clicked. Eragon...He could use it. He'd never explicitly said, but Saphira must have been responsible somehow. His lips formed the word that had been the reason Eragon had found out. _Brisingr_...Just in time, he clamped his mouth shut. That could have been disastrous. The spell was still a problem, however. He didn't know exactly what to do and you had to work up to your limits, didn't you?

The dragon hissed and across the connection, he felt hunger claw his stomach in sympathy for the dragon. The spell suddenly flowed from his lips as a result. To his intense surprise, a blue streamer issued from his hand which suddenly glowed fiercely. The streamer enveloped the haunch and Murtagh gasped for more air as strength suddenly left him. A gentle buzzing noise filled the air.

This went on for some time, but just as Murtagh was certain he was going to pass out or worse, the spell ended. Seeing this, the dragonlet scampered over to the haunch and began tearing strips in it.

* * *

Eragon let out a low hiss of pain as he raised himself slowly to a sitting position. But tender as he was, it was still more uncomfortable to remain lying down for hours on end.

His mind drifted to the reason he was in pain. Galbatorix hadn't been here today and he'd been making daily visits too. But although he was faintly worried, he was mainly relieved. He was sure one more session would finish him off.

Maybe Galbatorix had reached the same conclusion. It was information he wanted, after all. Not Eragon's life. Not yet, at least. The door to the dungeon began to open with a loud creak, and Eragon jumped in alarm, hissing with pain and falling back immediately. The walker didn't sound like Galbatorix though. This walker lacked the self-assuredness the King had.

They came into view and halted outside of his cell. It was a young man with serious, intelligent eyes. Eragon eyed him indifferently, his expression tempered with regret. He looked like he had morals. He wouldn't soon. The man eyed him warily. "You're Eragon?" he asked. Eragon nodded, a frown appearing on his face. This wasn't standard procedure. "What's your name?" he asked, purely out of habit. It didn't matter. "Marcus." he replied warily. Eragon's expression sharpened. Wariness? That was interesting. "What do you want?" he asked.

Marcus considered this. "Right now?" he began, musingly, "Right now I'd lie you back to full health and out of that cell. Same with Murtagh. I want _out _of here, out while I'm still able to leave."

There was something not entirely right. Something beyond the obvious yearning for freedom. "'While I'm still able to leave'?" Eragon quoted. Marcus immediately looked shifty. "Yes?" "Don't play with me, Marcus. You obviously want my help eventually and I want the _whole _truth."

"What do you _think _I mean?" Marcus demanded miserably. "There's rumours. Rumours that he wants every guard to swear their damn soul to him!" "Rumours." Eragon repeated, his doubt clear in his tone. "I'm not willing to risk that. He's evil anyway. I want _out_." Marcus snapped.

Eragon lapsed into thought. He wanted out and this seemed like it had a slim, slim chance of succeeding- which was more than he and Murtagh had alone. And Marcus had struck a chord with him. He was young, idealistic...and Eragon would never put things such as the rumour past him. But. Marcus was young. As far as Eragon knew, it was him, Marcus and Murtagh standing alone with a dragonlet in tow.

Marcus was examining his expression and correctly interepreted it. "I'm about the same age as you." he said quietly. "There's also one or two more guards and a magic user on our side." Despite himself, Eragon was impressed. "I didn't think decency had a chance in this place." he said. Marcus smiled slightly and turned to the door. "I'll come back tomorrow. We needed to know if you were willing to throw in your lot before we planned."

With that he turned on his heel and left the dungeons, leaving Eragon to settle in a more comfortable position and ponder the conversation and the new hope he'd been given.

* * *

The observant folk may have noticed a little reference to a plot point in 'Brisingr'- the guards sworn to Galbatorix. That is a sign that I'm going to follow it somewhat. I'll work it in somehow. As soon as this goes live I'll begin on the next chapter! Please review and give me your thoughts. Praise or criticism- I'm happy to have both. Thanks for reading! Hope you don't mind my first OC. I think he's quite sweet, actually. Maybe that's just me!


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